BJ's Building Blocks

The Best Three Days Ever

2011-10-03T12:02:00.000-07:00

As I sit here typing my thoughts and feelings, I am still basking in the glow of a three-day camping and fishing trip with my three children; Gina, Jesse and Tony. And I can say without any hesitation, with no margin for error, those three days were the finest, most memorable days of my life.

There were two catalysts for this get together. The first was Tony and Jesse’s 25th Birthday. The second was finding out the old Judson School in Alpine, Arizona had become an Inn and that we might be able to visit. When the Inn was acting as a summer campus for the Judson School of Scottsdale, Arizona, Gina, Jesse and Tony spent three eventful summers living there. So, Gina and Tony drove down from Denver, Jesse and I drove up from Phoenix and we met at Big Lake for three of the greatest days ever!

I have had wonderful days before, probably more than I can count if I tried to list them. Things like the birth of my children, the day the boys were released from intensive care, Gina’s many ribbons and awards in Three Day Eventing, the day each one was baptized and I can go on and on. No one could be more proud of and grateful for their three children than I am of mine.

At the time of all such wonderful events, they were the best days at that time. Yet they all had one small flaw at the core; I wasn’t who I knew myself to be. That flaw certainly didn’t diminish my enjoyment of the day or the importance of the accomplishment whatever it happened to be. But it did present a deep longing, a pensive musing; if the event is so wonderful, so joyful, so fulfilling, how much more would it be so if I was complete, if I could be true to myself, if the secret I held inside was out and I could be accepted, loved and participate openly as Billie.

And that is what made this trip so much different, so much more wonderful. Billie made this trip. But even more than that, the four of us had a great time, integrating Billie and the journey to become Billie into our family fabric as easily as any other event. For my children, the parent I was, the father I am and the person I have always been has transcended my gender presentation as easily as my graying hair.

We talked of the usual; work, relationships, future plans, the weather and the like. But just as easily, we talked about the things that occurred because of my transition, both tragic and comic. How naturally and casually friends are told, “Yeah, my Dad is a woman” with an inflection that adds silently, “So what?” How my own comfort level encourages my children to address me as “Dad” regardless of the situation, even in public. (See my blog on that topic here.) We laughed at the time I found out the boys had actually caught me dressed as a woman long before I confessed, but kept it to themselves. (Tony said, “We just thought it was something you liked to do on weekends.”) We also talked about how Gina felt a little left out because the boys didn’t even tell their big sister that her father liked dressing up as a woman!

We talked about how I get nervous when dealing with new people but how every instance has turned out just fine. How the children are occasionally concerned about my safety and the things I do so as not to court danger. We talked about the unfortunate reactions a few people have had, but we talked much more and reminisced about the friends and family that have stood by me and what a terrific example of God’s love and acceptance they exhibit.

There is a lot more of those conversations I could share. But the most precious thing to me, the most precious thing for any parent I imagine was to hear from each of my adult children that they were proud to have me as their father that they had learned a lot from me and my struggles and will always be grateful for the example I was able to set for them while growing up.

These are three damn fine children. I couldn’t love them more, I couldn’t be any prouder of them. And I am so honored to be their dad, even when wearing a dress and high heels!

Take Care,
Dad

Fat Chance

2011-07-06T07:10:00.000-07:00

Billie's Special Smoked Rib Roast, USDA Prime

Whenever a Pastor I know runs across an unanswerable question, he “writes” it down in an imaginary spiral notebook that he plans to take with him to heaven and finally get some answers, directly from God.

So, I have a question for that spiral notebook, “Why does a gram of fat have nine calories?” I guess as cosmic questions go, this isn’t a headliner. But for a binge eating, food addicted, compulsive overeater who would rather have a Double-Double than Oxycodone, it’s at least significant.

A gram of protein has four calories as does a gram of carbohydrate, but fat has more than twice the calories in every gram. What makes this significant for me, perhaps even for all Americans, is that most of the food I really like is loaded with fat. I have developed a palate that prefers the smell, the feel and the taste of fat. ‘Tis a cruel irony that with every forkful of my favorite eats, those fat grams I love so much double up the calorie count and all too quickly, my weight!

It may be God Himself that started this love affair with fat. In the book of Leviticus we find this tidbit, “He shall remove all the fat…and the priest shall burn it on the altar as an aroma pleasing to the LORD. In this way the priest will make atonement for him, and he will be forgiven.” (Emphasis mine.)

I ask you, what’s not to like about obtaining Divine forgiveness by charring a rib eye on the backyard grill? As religious rituals go, I’m behind this one 100%. Do you suppose this means there is barbeque in heaven? Another question for the spiral notebook.

Travelling the country in my mind’s eye, I wonder how many folks celebrated the 4th of July by grilling turkey burgers or skinless chicken breast. Oh, they are out there, but they are not enjoying themselves nearly as much as those filling the neighborhood with the aroma of burning fat as it drips down on hot coals. T-bones, prime rib, country-style pork ribs, and the favorites, hot dogs and thick juicy beef burgers. Add a loaded baked potato, or better yet french fries, fried mushrooms and corn on the cob swimming in real butter and laden with salt. In the words of Jimmy Buffet, “Good God Almighty.” That’s my idea of eats and that’s also how I got to weigh 416 pounds.

In a recent nutrition class at Scottsdale Weight Loss Center, we were given a simple red, yellow, green model to help discern the good foods from the bad. (Our instructor, Franne D. Wilk, RD was quick to point out there are no “bad” foods. Just foods we should eat more of and foods we should eat less of.) Anything out of the ground and unprocessed is “green;” i.e. whole grains and vegetables. “Just eat them,” Franne said. She elaborated that in all her years as a Dietician, she had never told a client the reason they were struggling with their weight was because they were eating too many vegetables.

Yellow foods add a layer of processing, white breads and white rice, vegetable and fruit juices instead the whole fruit or vegetable and the lean meats show up here. According to the chart, these foods are OK; they’re just not the healthiest.

Red foods are the stuff my dreams are made of; full-fat ice-cream, whole milk, well-marbled red meat, fruit canned in syrup, Tunnel of Fudge Cake and anything fried, particularly deep fried. Five-and-a-half ounces of a plain baked potato, a green food, will set you back 143 calories and only .15 grams of fat. (That’s less than a single gram.) A large fry at McDonald’s weighs the same 5.5 ounces, but costs you 500 calories and 25 grams of fat. It takes good ol’ American know-how to turn a green food red and into a fat lover’s delight! (Nutrition info is from the USDA database and McDonald’s website.)

Today I celebrate 26 weeks at Scottsdale Weight Loss Center. I am down 87 pounds, more than halfway to my goal. This is the fourth time I’ve been on Optifast; it has to be my last. Not only is chemistry against me, (or is it physics) but so is an entire industrialized food system geared toward fast, fat food, urging me to eat whatever I want and as much as I want. Do you think we will ever see a Super Bowl commercial for Arugula?

The day I fear the most is the day I start to eat again. Will the classes, the dieticians, the trainers and my own study of our food system drive me to choose the green and yellow foods most of the time and the red ones only on the rare occasion? It helps to know that no food is forbidden, but I still fear that first bite. Will I keep those fat calories in check?

For now, I remain in the safe confines of the “Full-Meal Replacement Program,” watched over by Dr. Ziltzer, Franne, the staff at Scottsdale Weight Loss Center, and supported by my friends and family. My undying gratitude, and I mean that literally, to each and every one of you.

Billie

Crank It Up

2011-06-27T19:24:00.000-07:00

On the Rim Outside of Payson - May, 2001

According to the folks at Scottsdale Weight Loss Center, there is one constant among the patients that have kept their weight off; just one thread that runs through each successful maintenance program…exercise. If I remember correctly, 75% of those exercisers do nothing more than walk.

I have lost 84 pounds now, I weigh in at 332. Soon I will cross the 100 pound mark and soon the rate of my weight loss will slow. One way to keep up the pace is to increase my activity.

I have never been much of an exerciser. I have had my moments in the few days of my life I managed to be thin. But I didn’t maintain the program and the weight has always come back on. These days I do little, everyday things to burn a few calories; take the stairs, park far from the door, take the long way to get somewhere and even the occasional intentional stroll. It all helps, it all adds up. But lately I have felt the need to up level the effort and walking, let alone running just doesn’t ring my bell. So, my mind went immediately to the one exercise I actually like, maybe even love.

Last time I was losing weight I found myself at Crested Butte in Colorado. I had dropped 100 pounds and was amazed at how much easier it was to get around. I decided to do something completely out of character, perhaps even risky; I rented a mountain bike. The bike was hung on the back of a chair lift and bicycle and I were lifted half-way up the Butte. They dropped us off, bike and me and pointed to the “easy trail.” “That obvious” I asked? “Not really,” my guide lied. “Good Luck!”

Wow! What a ride! The easy trail was all downhill on gravel or paved roads. I still weighed 325 pounds, so gravity grabbed hold of every ounce and yanked me down that hill at incredible, even scary speeds. I flew by smaller, lighter, even stronger folks like they were standing still; 21 gears and muscular legs were no match for the laws of motion. I nearly lost control several times, skidded on turns, superheated the brake pads but kept my balance. I was sure with just a little more speed I could pull back on the handle bars and be airborne.

At the end of the run my heart was racing, my whole body trembled from the adrenaline. My face was covered in dust and tears from the wind had streaked my face with the war paint of a victorious outing. I rode up to the rental place, it was getting on toward sunset and I thought they may be looking to call it an afternoon. I couldn’t wait to share my excitement, though I suspected he had heard it many times before. Yet, when I reached him, the strangest words came out of my mouth. “Do I have time to go again?”

“Sure,” came the reply. Obviously this guy had experienced that same feeling and would not deny me a late afternoon flight down Crested Butte. I pledged right then that when I reached 250 pounds, as my reward, I would buy my own mountain bike. And I did.

Sadly the weight soon returned and the beloved GT i-Drive went into storage where it’s been for close to ten years. Tires flat and cracked, tubes rotting, cables frozen, everything covered with dust; the faded picture of happier times, times filled with fun, adventure and hope.

But today the tomb is empty. As I type this, my GT sits in the living room, cleaned up, tuned up, with new tubes, new tires and refurbished shifters. We are reunited once again, ready for our new adventures from the canals of Phoenix, to Papago Park, to White Mountain trails, to a long overdue ride with my son, an avid rider himself and maybe even a return trip to Crested Butte.

I asked one of the instructors at the Scottsdale Weight Loss Center, “How do you define exercise.” She replied, “Anything more than what you’re doing now, no matter how small.” Today I managed about 100 yards in the saddle; after 10 years, at 332 pounds and in 115 degree heat there’s just one thing to say…

Wow! What a ride!

Billie

J Crew Flap Has Me Seeing...Pink

2011-04-15T15:55:00.000-07:00

Incredibly, I was given the rare opportunity to take a pink…I mean peek into the future and glimpsed the following headlines:

Seventy-fifth Infant Male Dies in Tokyo Hospital
Doctors rule out radioactive poisoning, blame pink toenails.

Huge Spike in US Unemployment Rate Recorded
Moms staying home to paint boy toenails pink gets the blame.

Terrorist Threat Highest since 9/11/2001
Bin Laden: “Mom shouldn’t have painted my toenails pink!”

Health and Human Services Bans Male Sandals
Illusion of paint free masculine toes must be maintained.

TSA To Screen for Pink Toenails on Male Airline Passengers
Girlie men a rising threat to National Security.

Congress Moves to Ban Gender Benders
Majority Leader: "Boys will be boys g'damnit or there's hell to pay. The only legal bender in this country will include lots of booze and not that purple hooter shooter crap neither."

President Glen Beck Executive Order Bans Pink Nail Polish on Anything Male
“Boys are about snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, damnit!” Ban on boy Poodles still being debated.

Acetone in Short Supply
Fearful Fathers looking for more than toe jam on young sons.

Deficit and Medicare Expenses Soar
Government prepares for onslaught of Post Pink Toe Stress Disorder (PPTSD). CDC: "We're seeing a big increase in the number of little piggies crying wee, wee, wee all the way home."

I just thank the Lord above that the media in America is on this important story and has not been fooled into covering silly shit like the budget, taxes, war, poisonous reactors or poverty.

Let’s all praise the Fourth Estate; they are obviously in the pink.

Take Care,
Billie

When Gain is Gain

2011-02-09T18:05:00.000-08:00

When Gain is Gain

So I gained a pound and a half this week. I suppose it was unrealistic to think that I could lose seven pounds each and every week. But, WOW! It was fun thinking about it. Can you imagine losing 100 pounds in just over 14 weeks or 182 pounds in six months? That would be freakin’ amazing! At that rate, I would weigh 235 pounds by the Fourth of July Weekend. Break out the bathing suits girls and let’s head for the lake! That would bring a whole new meaning to “Independence Day” for me!

But this week’s weigh-in burst my bubble and I was disappointed. I not only didn’t lose seven pounds, but now I had to “relose” a pound and a half. I had to round up 5,250 calories that somehow managed to find their way back into my fat cells and kick them out again. (I have always suspected that “Veteran” calories require more energy to remove than “Plebe” calories, something on the order of 2 to 1. I am not sure whether the body builds up a resistance or if the calories get craftier. I suspect it is the latter. Why do you suppose the last ten pounds are the hardest to lose? Practically speaking, I guess it doesn’t matter, they’re tough little bastards the second time around, that’s for certain; “why” is not important.) It was hard enough deflating those damn fat cells the first time, now I had to do it all over again.

This was all still swimming around in my head when I started reviewing the printout from the scale. Scottsdale Weight Loss uses an impedance scale to weigh me. The scale sends a current through the body and measures how long it takes to get back to the scale. It can then calculate (a more accurate term is probably “estimate”) how much of my weight is fat, lean and water. The readings can be affected by certain things, dehydration, exercise and alcohol, but even so, it does provide some unprecedented insight into what is going on in the battle of the numbers.

And just what was going on with the numbers? I gained a pound and a half, sure enough, but I LOST five pounds of fat! Whoa! “Cancel the calorie round-up!” There was no surplus at all! Something else was going on and all of the sudden I realized there was a lot of good news in that twenty-four ounce gain.

Last week Dr. Ziltzer recommended I cut my Lasix dose in half. (Lasix is a savage water pill that causes me to pee every 10 to 15 minutes for two to three hours after I take it. You can read about the events that got me on Lasix - here.) My systolic (upper) blood pressure readings had dropped from the 150’s to the 120’s for three weeks running and blood tests were showing I was dehydrated. I needed to pack on some fluids.

And that is exactly what happened, about ninety-six ounces or 6.5 pounds worth. My weight loss was helping to improve my circulation. Improving circulation meant I was retaining less fluid. With less to pull from, the Lasix was sucking up fluids I needed for good health, especially in our desert climes.

The printout was telling me that I was already reaping benefits from my efforts. I wasn’t gaining weight, I was gaining ground; on my goal, on better health, and on a better life. This was all GOOD news!

I am excited about the changes happening in my body and my life. I am beginning to see how this thing we call “eating” has many, many components and understanding the various parts can change what the sum looks like.

Success isn’t always a down arrow.

PS: A note about the image. I titled it "Death by..." Current total loss is 35 pounds. Just in case the hyperlink above isn't working, the link to my Lasix story is:

http://bjsblocks.blogspot.com/2010/05/edema-part-1-of-3.html

Take Care,

Billie

On The Lighter Side

2011-02-03T18:32:00.000-08:00

I reached a milestone today, a milestone I have kept carefully hidden in the back of my mind. It was one of those things one dare not think about, at least not to the point of dwelling, certainly not to the point of hoping lest it be crushed under the weight of arrogant certainty. When I thought of it, I thought of it in whispers, if such a thing is possible, afraid to hear the whole thing completely, afraid it would suddenly take form and reveal itself as a commitment, a promise to myself and others, a promise I had failed to keep a thousand million times before. But today I reached that milestone and I am ready to reveal it.

A month ago I started on a Physician supervised weight loss program at Scottsdale Weight Loss Center. You can check them out here: http://www.scottsdaleweightloss.com/

For eight years I have hovered around 400 pounds, give or take 25. I have made hundreds of halfhearted attempts to gain control over my eating, to no avail. I would likely still be getting nowhere had 2010 not been a “do I have your attention” year for me physically. Blood pressure barely under control, edema in my legs, a gallbladder attack in November, my first fasting blood sugar reading in the Type II Diabetes range and more, all screaming I was out of time. I was wearing down and my body was wearing out. I looked ahead and saw the road ending before my journey was over. There was too much left to experience. I decided to get help and after some research called the folks at Scottsdale Weight Loss Center.

I had the blood work and first weigh-in on December 17, 2010; 416 pounds. I started the program on January 7th. (I had to have at least one more rack of Claxon’s hand rubbed ribs!) On January 6th, I had a 40 minute session with Dr. Rob Ziltzer and decided on the 1,500 calorie per day, Full-Meal Replacement plan using Optifast shakes, bars and soups. Optifast worked for me in 2000 and 2001 when I lost 185 pounds and Dr. Ziitzer’s plan also allows salad greens and a frozen entrée in place of an Optifast. (It’s amazing how much one can look forward to Salisbury Steak and Asparagus!)

Since that initial weigh-in I have lost 37 pounds and have begun to believe that I will make it this time. I have tasted success and it tastes wonderful!

In the past month, I have had my shakes, soups and bars, spinach, cucumbers, lettuce, celery and a tomato here and there. That amazes me. But even more amazing is what I have NOT had. No burgers, fries, pizza, bread, bologna, pasta, chips, Twinkies or Ding Dongs have passed my lips; not so much as a crumb. To be fair, my apartment is so void of food I imagine any varmints that might have been around have moved to more fertile ground. Even so, I haven’t forgotten where all those fast food joints are and I remember the phone number to Pizza Hut. For these last four weeks I have taken control of what goes in my mouth and I have to say, it feels powerful!

I am still seriously messed up and there is a lot of weight yet to lose. But I am committed to working the program and on the problems. I have had counseling before to try and sort through the debris, but they were all skinny men who couldn’t gain an ounce if they ate a train load of ice cream. Thankfully, I found Dr. Lisa Galper, a specialist in eating disorders who works with The Center. She became a specialist because she battled the same things I battle now, losing over one hundred pounds and keeping it off for years. She knows what it is like to be an emotional prisoner locked in an all-you-can-eat buffet. But what’s more, she got out. With her help, I will learn how to cope without food.

I am further blessed with an accountability partner, my dear friend Jeff. He suffers as I do. Though ten years my junior, his knees are already giving him trouble. Not a good sign. We text each other as we eat something. So, before something goes in the mouth, I know I will have to text that to him. It helps and the texting record provides a nice archive.

Please pray for me. There is a lot I would like to do in real life that needs a thinner, physically fit Billie to avoid dropping dead in the act. The people I am working with now are great and now that you know, you can hold me accountable as well. This is the most important thing in my life right now; I welcome all the help I can get. I will keep you posted. (Pun intended!)

Take Care,
Billie

2010-10-10T20:14:00.000-07:00

In the midst of recent tragedies involving gays, I hope I can bring you a small bright spot.

Last week I was in Los Angeles attending the annual Workplace Summit hosted by Out & Equal Workplace Advocates. I was one of six representatives sent to the Convention Center in downtown LA by Intel Corporation who has supported Out & Equal since day one.

Out & Equal champions safe and equitable workplaces for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) people. They advocate building and strengthening successful organizations that value all employees, customers and communities. The conference was four days of inspirational speakers, workshops, seminars and most importantly the fellowship of all those LGBT folks and Allies. (Well, there was also the “bling.” I now have a dozen tote bags, twenty five or thirty pens, tons of note pads and half a dozen coffee cups.)

The conference had 114 corporate sponsors and was attended by 2,410 company representatives, records for both. In addition to Intel, I saw folks from IBM, Accenture, Aetna, Dow Chemical, Inuit, Clorox, New York Life, Boeing, Northern Trust, Citi Bank, Microsoft, Chrysler, and dozens more. These companies have policies ingrained into their corporate cultures designed to bring about a non-threatening workplace for LGBT employees as well as providing benefits for Domestic Partners and Transgender healthcare.

It was quite an experience for me, not only in what I learned in the sessions I attended, but to see how such a diverse group of individuals can work together for the common good of our community. It renewed my hope that there are other options out there for service; that I can find and work with people interested in building bridges with respect and kindness. I had given up hope of finding such an opportunity. Tonight I am reinvigorated.

What does all this mean? To me, it shows that corporations are leading us into an age of greater acceptance. They understand the value of diversity and use it to their advantage and we reap benefits as well. They are doing this while showing respect for the beliefs and traditions of all their employees. Even now, companies are looking to future policies regarding Transgenders who desire to remain fluid in their presentation, more male on one occasion, more female on another. I suspect it will be Corporate America that finds answers that will meet the needs of this newest generation while remaining thoughtful over the concerns from non-LGBT men and women.

And a note to those Transgenders that curse the Human Rights Campaign; read the article I have highlighted below. It will revolutionize health coverage for Transgenders within the corporate environment.
http://www.hrcbackstory.org/2010/10/hrc%e2%80%99s-new-corporate-equality-index-requires-removal-of-exclusions-to-transgender-healthcare-and-benefits/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+HrcBackStory+%28HRC+Back+Story%29

Are these companies completely free of harassment? Unfortunately no. As long as we are dealing with people, there will be misunderstandings and hate. What they bring is exposure and education. I was approached by a coworker recently who wanted to thank me. She had no idea what life was like for many LGBT folks. Through my transition and stories, she was motivated to find out. She is now a dedicated Ally. Through their policies, companies are bringing about the opportunity for us to change hearts and minds. People learn that even the most flamboyant in our community are not a threat and are deserving of the love and respect due every human being.

I am so fortunate to work for Intel Corporation and proud that they are such a dedicated supporter of workplace diversity. Whether it is LGBT, religion, race, creed, color or gender we work together, side by side and in the process gain understanding and respect for each other.

Take Care,
Billie

The Worst Kept Secret

2010-09-02T17:33:00.000-07:00

On the first visit to my therapist, I was given a questionnaire to complete. One of the questions was, “What is your sexual preference?’ Without hesitation, I wrote, “I want to be a girl.”

And thus it has been for decades. In every fantasy or dream I’ve ever had correcting nature’s disconnect, the measures taken were always complete; the transformation provided the missing internal organs, removed the surplus and added a tittle on that Y chromosome to make it an X. Of course there was also the fabulous figure, great cleavage, stunning gams and thick luxurious hair. :) Sadly, transformation technology that is actually available, regardless of the cost, is a lot less capable.

In regard to my own, real world Transition and Transgenderedness, my ideal state is living my life, fulltime as a woman without ever being “detected” as being born or having lived male. For my personal happiness, I don’t need a “fantasy” transformation to achieve that ideal state. I would have no problem living with the knowledge that I still had a Y chromosome and a prostate and that I didn’t have a cervix, uterus or ovaries. However, to be ideal, those items could never be detectable by others. Unfortunately, that’s not possible, at least not for me. The unexpected, the unforeseen will ensure that someone will know; someone will find out, eventually.

If I had begun my transition in my teens or even early 20’s, I might feel differently. Although the physical issues would still exist, there would be far less “male history” to undo. As it is, I have too much past to elude. Even if I tried to out run it, it would eventually find me. And as things omitted are wont to do, I’m sure they would pop up at the most inopportune times. People feel deceived when they find you’ve omitted key details of your life story and it doesn’t seem to matter that you had good reasons for doing so.

Anyway, I am tired of secrets and I am tired of wondering if the warm smile and happy greeting would change if people knew I once had a penis.

Thus I have come to realize I shall never achieve my ideal state and that’s OK. Bill will never be completely gone. He is the occasional glimpse from the corner of my eye, the not-quite-forgotten thought on the tip of my tongue, that “feeling” that I’m being followed. It may be a comfort to many that a portal to Bill exists; that he lives still and is happy to wander the hills and dales of that past life; that Billie, a benevolent host to a beloved symbiote willingly animates Bill’s existence, bringing it to life with pride and gratitude. After all, though not always apparent, they have been together a very long time.

Is my dream then shattered; that dream to live my life, full-time as woman? A realistic look at my life revealed that everyone I know knows I am a Transsexual. Family, friends, friends of friends, FB friends, co-workers, doctors, hair dressers, nail techs all know; if not from the start, eventually, either from me or someone else. Perhaps the important question to be answered is this, if I am treated like a lady, does it matter that they know I was once a man?

When “just the girls” go to lunch, when my son holds the door for me, when the dermatologist says I have beautiful skin, when I’m chatted up in the ladies room or when my brothers call me “sis,” does what they know about me matter? Should I be concerned about what they might be thinking? I think the answer is “no, it doesn’t matter.” What matters is how we treat each other in spite of what we know.

In fact, it’s better that they know. Then their caring for me is genuine, done with the knowledge of who I am, who I was and who I want to be. There are no illusions for them, no assumptions, only loving interaction despite the truth. They know I once had a penis and despite any uncertainties, they look past them to the person I am, the person I want to be and interact with me on that level. Which, coincidentally, is the level I have always dreamed of achieving; to live my life, fulltime as a woman. And in a very real and practical sense, when I am surrounded by these people who know me and still interact with me as a woman, I am for all intents and purposes, undetectable.

And that my dears, is ideal.

Take Care,
Billie

Vaya Con Dios

2010-08-30T22:26:00.000-07:00

I saw something today that delivered a right cross square on my jaw and knocked me lower than the Dead Sea. I have been in an emotional nose dive for a couple of weeks now, so it only took a moment for this to speed the descent.

It should not have affected me so. My reaction was most probably an over-reaction. There is no knowing if malice was intended. Maybe it wasn’t because I had decided to live as a woman, but a dozen other, unrelated reasons. Perhaps it was expediency, maybe forgetfulness or perhaps I had misjudged this person all along. Only the author of the deed knows for sure. Still, it got to me.

It’s been three years since I came out. It is unfortunate that we live in a society and time that is filled with mistrust and hate. It was mistrust and hate I feared enough that I kept to myself. It is mistrust and fear that drive some to call me liar and fraud. The best among us seek to bridge that divide. I have done what I can with the rest.

The past is hard to cut loose; especially when the events, places and people hold special meaning. I have wanted to restore the damaged relationships so those memories might be shared. But my decision brought out the disease in some of those people and it is time for me to move on; for my own good, for my own wellness. I can do nothing with them or for them. As it is, a restoration was only important to me thus my departure won’t even be noticed.

These people are no more or less flawed than I. I do not condemn them. I have simply come to the point where I have no use for them and no need of them.

Good-bye

Billie

A Good Cry

2010-08-27T18:36:00.000-07:00

It still startles me when I experience a sudden emotional rush. You know, like when you stop by the grocery store after work, just for a few things and you’re debating the value of paying $14.99 for a pair of tongs because they have pink tips and all-of-the sudden without any warning whatsoever, you burst into tears. It’s a gusher of emotion rising from your gut so fast the tears are running down your cheeks before you even know you’re crying. You barely stifle the audible wail, but there is no concealing the deep, deep sobbing.

It’s turn-toward-the-display crying while you dig through your purse for a tissue and in your mind you’re screaming wtf, wtF, WTF!! Dab a cheek, dab another cheek, blow the nose, follow-on eruption and the flow begins again. “Where in the hell is this coming from??” Digging for a dry tissue, a quick survey to see if anyone is staring. Thank God, no. “Get a hold of yourself, girl.” Dab a cheek, dab another cheek, blow the nose take a breath; another breath and then two more. You begin to move again, eyes down because you know your mascara is a mess and your eyes are all red. The search begins.

Maybe it’s because 21 years ago today my Dad died. Or that a week from Sunday it will be two years since my baby sister died. I miss them. I miss all my family.

Could it be I’m tired of watching my friends getting kicked to the curb by their “loved ones?” Or the gossip and backstabbing that goes on in the so-called “community” of Transfolk?

Could be the job; it changed recently and won’t be nearly as much fun as before. People are already saying that I am not my “old self.”

Perhaps it’s the constant battle with food. Every waking minute of every day all I do is fight the urge to eat. I’m fat, out-of-shape, fighting an infection and ragweed is in bloom. Could be.

Maybe it’s all of the above; I really don’t know. I guess you don’t need a reason to cry do you?

I can tell you this; I’m going to make a cup of tea, pull out the guitar and sing sad songs.

And have a good cry.

Anyone got a tissue?

Take Care,
Billie

2010-08-02T08:55:00.001-07:00

I don’t write on Transgender topics very much anymore. I live my life as a woman these days. Nonetheless, I did go through a transition; a phase where I changed the life I lived in the “real” world to match the life I had always lived in my heart and in my mind’s eye, Fortunately, there were many, many people who did everything they could to make that change a wonderful experience.

This past weekend was an anniversary of sorts. I began my transition on the first weekend in August, 2007. But the reason for my nostalgia is the announcement I received at work that “Jack” was beginning a new life as “Jill” (not the real names) effective July 27th. It is a time of joy and celebration in the office, as it was with my announcement. It has always amazed me that a group of relative strangers, my coworkers, have consistently been so loving, so accepting and so supportive.

I am obligated to say that I am not an official spokeswoman for “MyCo.” These are my thoughts alone. Though many that read this know where I work, I do not have permission to name the company, so I won’t. Still, their efforts should be applauded. My transition at MyCo remains one of the best experiences of my life.

MyCo’s culture is one that prizes diversity and the right of employees to make personal decisions in their lives. Diversity expands our thinking and fosters innovation. MyCo believes that our work environment should be safe and healthy, free from harassment, intimidation and discrimination. Knowing not everyone will make the same personal choices, MyCo doesn’t ask those who disagree to change their beliefs, but simply be courteous, respectful and professional. I have yet to have a single negative experience at MyCo since my transition. I wish I could say the same for the rest of my world.

I transitioned from Bill to Billie at MyCo in April, 2008 after three and a half months of preparation. In addition to my manager, there was a team of people from Human Resources, Legal, Security, Benefits, and Occupational Health. People from each of these departments were tasked to find and solve any issues that might come up in my transition as well as figure out how to let everyone know what was going on.

April 7th, Executive Management was informed and my HR records were updated to my new name and gender. April 8th, I met face-to-face with the individuals I was closest to. April 9th my e-mail address was changed and over 450 e-mails were sent announcing that “Bill McReynolds will take the name of Billie McReynolds as she transitions from male to female.” April 10th I got my new ID badge and April 14th, after 15 years at MyCo, Billie reported for her first day at work. I have included the photo taken to commemorate the event.

I received abundant e-mails and personal visits for days afterward. They not only expressed congratulations to me, but pride that we worked for a company that would go to such extraordinary lengths for a single employee, one out of thousands. With Jill’s announcement I was reminded of how wonderful it felt to walk those familiar aisles as Billie. Nothing else was changed; I sat in the same cubical, belonged to the same teams, worked with the same people and they were all able to make the transition with me. I am still amazed by that and still hold that sense of pride in MyCo.

Congratulations Jill; I know your experience will be every bit as wonderful as mine.

Take Care,
Billie

Hay Siempre Mañana

2010-07-25T12:32:00.001-07:00

At a meeting the other day I mentioned that I was closing in on sixty years old. Later, I was approached by several folks who told me I did not look anywhere close to sixty; mid-forties tops.

It’s wonderful what estrogen has done for my skin. But there is a down side. It feeds into a notion I have that there is plenty of time before I “have” to get healthy. Sure, the body sends me little messages to the contrary; small aches and pains, bladder infections, a weird rash on my ankle and high blood pressure. But half a dozen prescriptions keep all that in check, feeding the illusion there is yet still time to get the life I really want and live into my eighties. “Hay siempre mañana,” there is always tomorrow.

But a fresh coat of paint doesn’t do jack if the wood underneath is rotting. At any moment, despite the best attempts at detection, my body could send me a new reminder of my lengthy abuse; a stroke, heart attack, diabetes, cancer or God knows what; a message beyond the reach of “take two and call me in the morning.”

I can imagine my despair; all those todays I pushed into mañana now unobtainable, the bridge between them having collapsed. I can’t see myself as the brave convalescent; dedicated to arduous and painful therapy to recapture a small fraction of mobility or speech or cognition. I would likely sit in my chair, sipping a drink, watching television and wondering what was for dinner.

Much like the life I have now.

Hay siempre mañana.

Take Care,
Billie

Hurley

2010-07-11T10:43:00.000-07:00

I heard something the other day that intrigued me. The person said that we carry our fate with us; that circumstances don’t affect it, only we can change our fate by changing who we are.

My earliest memory of being ridiculed for being fat is the 3rd grade. During elementary school, my parents put me on diets. My father would punish me if the scales didn’t show a reduction. I wore “husky” jeans, often several inches too long so the waist would fit. In high school, I had the nick name Billie Moon because my face was round and chubby. My self image was fat because everyone around me said I was fat.

Adulthood brought no relief. Controlling my weight was a constant struggle; in the Army, in the dating scene, to fit into my wedding suit, as a partner, as a father and now as a divorced woman. Since the late 80’s, it has been a losing battle; most of that time spent over 400 pounds. The 50 years since my first “hey fatso” appear to support the notion that we carry our fate with us regardless of the circumstances. There is nothing we can do; there is no place we can go that will change fate.

Even losing more than 100 pounds didn’t change my fate. I have done that three times since 1989. The latest loss was 185 pounds in 2001. But by Christmas, 2003 I was over 400 pounds, again. Fate has cursed me with some morbid propensity and plunked me in the middle of a society that deifies food and has no shortage of same. And now I have the additional burdens of age, gravity and estrogen conspiring to seal my fate unto death do we part. Perhaps I should accept the inevitable and surrender, get one of those electric scooters and ride into the sunset and a double-wide casket.

Perhaps I would except for Hurley.

In the television series “Lost,” Hurley believes he is cursed with bad luck since winning a lottery. The “curse” controls his life. In an inspiring scene, Hurley and friends find an old VW Microbus, but the battery is dead. Hurley hopes to jump start it by rolling it down a steep hill and popping the clutch. It’s a dangerous gamble. Nonetheless, Hurley flips fate the bird with faith that he can get the van to run. As the Microbus hurdles down the hill, Hurley says over and over, “There is no curse, we make our own luck.” You can watch the scene at the YouTube link below.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=zwZOmB9Fi30&feature=PlayList&p=28849ED323C7D9FC&playnext_from=PL&playnext=1&index=24

It’s time to make my own luck, tell fate to FO and start living thin, live the life I want, fight through the pain and fatigue and do the things I want to do, be who I want to be; right now, today.

There is no curse.

Take Care,
Billie

Just Call Me Dad

2010-06-21T17:03:00.000-07:00

Many of you know my story. Aware at the age of 10 that something was wrong with my gender assignment, nonetheless I assumed the roles and responsibilities mandated by my genitals. By the time I understood I was Transgendered, I was married and the father of three children.

I was exhilarated at the thought of becoming the woman I was born to be. Yet, I was certain the cost would be the loss of my children. That was too high a price. Thus I decided not to transitions until the kids had all passed their eighteenth birthdays. As it turned out, my daughter was 22 and my boys were 20 when I revealed my intensions. For their entire lives up to that point, I had been Dad.

Today, my femininity is so comfortable, it is hard to believe I have lived as a woman for only three years. Some friends will occasionally comment that my children still call me “Dad” and I should ask them to call me “Mom” or “Billie” particularly in public.

I don’t think I will, for a couple of reasons.

First, I am quite sure my “ex” would have apoplexy if she knew her children were addressing me as “Mom.” But more importantly, I am not and never have been their Mother. I may have changed my gender but it’s not retroactive. By the grace of God, all three of my children are outstanding adults. I am proud of each one and whatever my contribution, the role I played was their father. Forgive my hubris, but I am proud of that.

If I had my druthers, I would go through life with no one knowing that I wasn’t born a woman and if someday my children want to start addressing me as Billie or even Mom, that’s OK. In the meantime, just call me Dad.

Take Care,
Billie

Oh Where Have You Been Charming Billie

2010-05-29T19:57:00.000-07:00

Before transition, I frequently isolated myself. There were a lot of reasons for that. I didn’t like the life I was forced to live and I was ashamed of my obese appearance and habits. I walled off the world whenever I could. I had no social life and apart from my children, no close relationships. One or two were closer than others, but no one, no one knew my heart. I promised myself that if I ever transitioned, I would tear down the walls and get a life.

But old habits die hard and so I seek comfortable surroundings when confronted with life’s truths, trials and trouble. There are no happy endings, just happy moments; moments that are all too fleeting and endlessly stalked by the next failure, the next betrayal or the next disappointment. Delight is smothered by the shadow of something waiting to destroy my joy, break my resolve and send me running for sanctuary.

Thus I have spent a lot of time this year in an alternate world. I do what must be done in this world then travel to another place where time doesn’t matter, deadlines don’t exist and dealing with the ugliness can always wait one more day. I drop my purse and computer bag on the couch. I walk by days of dirty dishes, weeks of dirty laundry, unopened mail and overflowing trash cans. I ignore the flashing light on the phone, the looming health issues and a solid start on the food plan. I rush to the portal, jack-in and in moments I am gone.

In this alternate world I am a forensic archeologist using my scientific talents to solve murders and resist my attraction to the FBI agent I work with. I am a brilliant structural engineer breaking my innocent brother out of prison. I am a quirky New York Police Detective solving major cases. I am a recovered coma victim that with one touch can see your future or something in your past. I am young genius who discovers how to stabilize the "Einstein-Rosen-Podolsky bridge” so I can “slide” to alternate Earths. I am anything I want to be, can do anything I need to do and sooner or later, I always triumph.

In the morning I awake having traveled back sometime in the night. I am tired and groggy and smashed to pieces. I sigh deeply, “Shit.” The tears well up. Through the haze I see the remnants of last night’s journey; the consequences piled atop the crushing weight of all those other tasks left undone. I want to go back, but I can’t. I cry as fear lays over me as surely as my blanket. A thousand ticks tocked last night, little bits of my life redeemable only in this world, worthless where I’ve been, thrown away; bits taken from a finite reservoir whose depth is known to no one. And so each morning goes, wondering if the road will end before the journey does.

I have to pee. I kick off the blanket and wrench myself out of bed. In the bathroom I stand only inches from the mirror. The tears have washed my eyes to a brilliant blue and my cheeks are rosy red. I rub the sleep from my eyes and just stare. “You have great skin; I’ll give you that much girl.”

Hope’s a funny thing.

Take Care,
Billie

Edema Part 3 of 3

2010-05-10T06:51:00.000-07:00

The reduced circulation that causes edema also makes it harder for my body to fight infection, particularly on the skin. The bumps are apparently small, local infections caused by normally harmless bacteria typically found on the skin. Who knew they would turn out to be little opportunistic bastards; at the first chance they get, stabbing me in the back or leg as it were?

The strategy is to hunt down the treasonous little buggers with both a frontal assault and parachuting troops in behind their lines. The frontal assault is an antibiotic ointment applied topically three times a day. It’s thick and has a tacky feel once applied. It must be like one of those “humane” sticky traps for rodents that holds them in place, alive, until you have a chance to dispatch them somehow. I will have to wear dresses more often because my slacks stick to the medication.

To sneak up on the troublemakers from behind, a broad spectrum antibiotic was added to the mix. I will take this pill four times a day for ten days. I am keeping my fingers crossed on this one. I have been on so many antibiotics over the past 18 months, it’s anybody’s guess what is going to work. Hopefully whatever is responsible for the trouble down there won’t be able to mount a strong resistance.

The last medication is designed to aid in alleviating the root cause, too much weight. I have not been able to sustain a good food plan for more than a day or two. I have fallen into a horrible sedentary routine along with eating too much food, particularly in the evening. This pill is supposed to help with the food. It is an appetite suppressant. It is a stimulant. It is a psychological boost. It is a tool, a short term one at that. It’s worth a try.

As I write this, my dining table is covered with more pill bottles than you’d find in a small pharmacy. I have not mentioned the proton pump inhibitor I take, the nasal spray, the inhaler or the girl pills I take twice a day. There are also the vitamins and calcium. And nearly all of this is because I eat too much food. Food. I am not sick, I have no diseases, I simply eat too much. What's up with that?

Why is cracking this so difficult? I know what to do; I just have to do it. I see my future, likely a short one, laid out on the table in orange bottles with white caps. But is this finally enough? Have I reached the tipping point or will I simply adjust like I have in the past? Will I accommodate the addiction or annihilate it? In the dark when I am alone and the only sound is the hum of the refrigerator, I stand face to face with my choices and fear the only possible victory will be found in death. The dead don’t eat. Well…except for Zombies of course.

And just in case anyone takes this wrong, I don’t see suicide as a solution. Although it has the benefit of ending the overeating problem, it has a fatal flaw, literally. Any solution must also allow one to enjoy life being thin.

I can change this; I’ve beaten it before. I must change this.

In the meantime, perhaps I should take the stimulant and the diuretic in the afternoon instead of the morning. I may be up all night, but I’ll be too busy peeing to eat.

Take Care,
Billie

Edema Part 2 of 3

2010-05-08T23:22:00.000-07:00

Due to the length of this piece, I am posting it in three parts. This is part two.

Edema is the accumulation of serum in the spaces between cells. Poor circulation is the typical cause. As blood backs up, it leaches fluid into those spaces, which then accumulates and causes swelling. It can be a symptom of disease or, as in my case, a result of obesity.

It takes only 3,500 extra calories to create a pound of fat. Each pound of new fat requires the body to create seven miles of blood vessels to nurture it. In my last Body Composition Analysis, I was carrying 150 pounds of excess fat. That’s over 1,000 miles of blood vessels to support that adipose mass; from Phoenix to Denver, Colorado. Is it any wonder my poor heart, now nearly 58 years old, is having some trouble keeping up?

So I was prescribed a wheelbarrow full of medications. I was already taking three pills that barely kept my blood pressure in check. After a zillion tests earlier this year, the only issue found was a slight enlargement of my heart due to my moderately high blood pressure; which try as they might, never seems to leave the 140’s. I was told to stop taking one of those pills as it can cause fluid retention.

In its place, I am now taking a strong diuretic that causes me to pee every 20 minutes for the first several hours of the day. The first time I took it, I had to pee like a Russian race horse by time I got to work! (Interestingly enough, that expression comes from the fact that racehorses are given the same diuretic I am on, presumably to lighten the load since water weighs eight pounds per gallon.) I am reminded of the doctor who once told me I was healthy as a horse, I just weighted as much as one. The nights will be rough if I take this one too late in the day.

Peeing a lot means the body looses crucial minerals, Potassium in particular. Potassium is critical for proper heart function. So now I take two Potassium pills a day. Staying with the equine theme, they are freakin’ “horse pills.” It’s a good thing I don’t have any phobias around swallowing pills!

The rest of the pills on Monday along with my exciting conclusion!

Take Care,
Billie

Edema Part 1 of 3

2010-05-08T14:44:00.000-07:00

Due to the length of this piece, I will be posting it in three parts over the next three days.

Private note to my Evangelical friend with the Jewish Mother: I say this in my best imitation of the Prophets of old, “Stand fast and read these words with dread as they will open your eyes and behold, you will see your future.” (Well, maybe not the pedicure part, although I highly recommend it.) :)

A pedicure is one of the most luxurious experiences in the world. There is the usual treatment of trimming nails and removing calluses of course. But the full treatment includes a foot and calf massage, sea salt scrub, mint lotion with calves wrapped in hot towels, moisturizer rubdown and a paraffin treatment for the feet. For the price, there is nothing like it, and you have pretty feet and toes to show off in your summer sandals!

Who knew that a pedicure could be a diagnostic tool?

During my pedicure two weeks ago, I noticed my calves didn’t “jiggle” like calves do when you tap them from the outside of your leg. There was no movement at all, they were solid. I pressed on the skin and there was no “give;” as if I was pushing on the shin bone itself. Both of my lower legs were tight and firm as if they had somehow been filled with sand. No matter how hard I tried to relax the muscle, the result was the same.

This was troublesome. I have dealt with minor swelling in my feet for some time, but this was different; this was something I had not seen before. Still denial springs eternal. Perhaps it was temporary; perhaps it would go away in a couple of days. It didn’t, it got worse.

There was no pain, no itching. My feet weren’t blue or cold. But along the shin, the skin started getting red and tight enough that it shined like a bald man’s head. I started seeing bumps appear just below the calf muscles about two inches above my ankles, or what was left of them.

Then two of those bumps burst open and began leaking fluid. (I found out later the medical name for that fluid is serum.) If I pressed on the sore, the pressure would force more fluid out, leaving a small indentation. During the day the serum would creep down my ankle and dry into a clear crust that I would have to wipe off with wash cloth when I got home from work.

So yesterday I went to the doctor.

Flat on my Ass

2010-04-19T19:57:00.000-07:00

I haven’t quite been my joyful, optimistic self of late. I’ve been hiding, watching TV and trying to motivate myself to do something, anything. There are a number of reasons for this cloudy disposition, but I will spare you the details, save for one, THE one, THE battle, THE bane of my existence; food.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been eating between 3,000 and 4,000 calories a day. My weight is up to 421 pounds. Not quite a record (427) but close. It is a mystery of the human mind that I hate the consequences of overeating, but love the act itself. Hence the depression and frustration. I want both to eat and be thin and refuse to accept the empirical evidence of 50 years that it is not possible for me to have both to the degree that I desire.

I needed a kick in the ass.

I got one.

Friday afternoon I went out with friends to get hair and nails done. Color, cut, mani and pedi, we spent hours relaxing and talking girl talk. I was sure that the Vietnamese nail techs were commenting on the horrendous condition of my feet. I could see my tech was working up a sweat trying to scrape months of neglect off the bottom on my feet. Weight and poor circulation had created a barely penetrable armor plating, particularly at the heel. But Jay, not his real name, eventually prevailed so, gorgeous, pampered and light nearly $90 each, we went to the restaurant next door to have dinner and let the polish cure.

It was a lovely evening with a gentle breeze and just a hint of coolness. We decided to dine on the patio. They had checkered table clothes, candle center pieces, umbrellas and those molded plastic chairs. I hate those plastic chairs; they are always too narrow so by the time dinner is over, I have deep gouges on the outside of my thighs and no feeling in my feet. I hate being the killjoy, so I sucked it up and gently squeezed my ten pound ass into that five pound chair.

As is typical with this model, I could feel that I was forcing the chair’s arms apart as I settled all 421 pounds on to the four legs. I could hear the plastic complain under my weight as the legs bowed ever so slightly. I paused for a second, checking my “spidey sense” for trouble. All seemed in order, so I began to sit back when “CRACK” the chair literally exploded into a dozen pieces!

I have been carrying around excess weight for many more years than not and I have thigh and calf muscles to prove it. I reacted immediately and those oversized muscles contracted holding me in mid air, locked in that sitting position mightily poised to lift my substantial bulk to a standing position, avoiding the embarrassment and humiliation of a fall and quite likely cause the half-dozen shocked bystanders to gaze in awe at the strength and agility of this remarkable, if not hugely obese woman.

Alas, estrogen has done its job and my strength isn’t what it used to be. Frozen in time for only a moment, I couldn’t pull up and the table was quickly beyond my reach; not that grabbing it would have helped. Like a pilot in a shattered plane, I realized I was headed to the ground and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Horrified, I crashed onto the concrete patio with a terrible indelicate “thud.”

Instantly, I was surrounded by people asking if I was OK, reaching out their hands to help me up. I was flat on my ass leaning back on my left hand. I took stock of my vitals and everything seemed in one piece, no blood, no bones, no bruises, except for the massive one direct center of my ego. I swung my right hand over to the outstretched hand of my friend’s daughter, Dana; not her real name. Seconds before we clasped hands, I yanked it back. “Wait!” I said too loudly. “The nails!! Watch the nails!”

I shunned the offers of help, got up on one knee and hoisted myself up using a chair for support. I headed over to one of the patio lights where I could use the bright light to once again check my vitals. The manager came over. “Are you alright,” he asked. Surveying both hands for several more seconds, “Yes, I replied. The nails survived.”

As my friend said to me later, “Thank God you weren’t wearing a dress.” Amen to that!

I tell the story with humor to help block the thoughts that are fighting to get in. The thought that all those witnesses got into their cars and laughed hysterically at the stupid fat woman that fell on her ass. How could she think for even a moment such a chair could support the tonnage being placed upon it? I imagine the story being told to others and praying that no one was at the ready with a cell phone camera. I couldn’t imagine seeing it on YouTube. Humor helps block those thoughts, mostly.

Today I am back on my plan, as I was yesterday. One day at a time.

Take Care,

Eleven Steps Back

2010-03-16T12:44:00.000-07:00

Last week was a rough week. I gained back 11 of the 12 pounds I lost the previous week. (Oh how I don’t want to admit that!!)

It was a busy week, so didn’t log my food. I just don’t want to accept that my calibration is off and I MUST log my food to know how much I am eating. So, it is back to the logbook.

I don’t understand why it is so hard to make this a priority in my life. I don’t have a lot of years left on this Earth and every day I fiddle fart around with my food plan is another day lost to the life I dream about living.

I hate pictures of myself. There is something about the mind’s eye that is much more forgiving than the camera lens. When I see a picture of myself, I look HUGE. So, next week, I am having a friend of mine take a picture of me and make a life-size cardboard replica of Billie as seen through the camera lens.

My cellulose twin will take up a position blocking the refrigerator door. I will post a photo on Facebook when it is in place. :)

Take Care,
Billie

Living to Eat

2010-03-11T08:47:00.000-08:00

A food addiction is a most vicious addiction. I have heard from some of you that are fighting this same battle or have, so you know; this addiction is meaner than sin.

Most food addicts don’t look like they are struggling; their lives don’t show the debilitating effects some other addictions can manifest. The worst food addicts will be extremely overweight, may have trouble getting around and suffer obesity related illnesses like high blood pressure and diabetes. But many, many more food addicts adapt their lives and bodies for years, until suddenly, time runs out. Someday, I will share some of the ways I have adapted.

Recovery in many addictions is focused on abstinence. All the recovery energy is focused on one single point, do NOT have the first drink or puff or hit. Addiction is a lot like fat cells, once there, they can be diminished, but never eliminated. Just one experience is enough for most addicts to send them back into the dark abyss from which they worked so hard to extricate themselves. Just once. I can’t tell you how many times I have stood on the scale looking up from the bottom of the pit, bitter and hopeless. Having known the joy of success only to have returned by my own hubris was devastating. It’s by God’s grace I never used a bullet to solve the problem. Some do.

I imagine there are some addicts that can flirt with their “demon” and not succumb to their old habits. I don’t know any, though. As a smoker, I would toss out, tongue-in-cheek, that overused quip, “I can quit smoking; I’ve done it a thousand times.” All it took was one cigarette and I was back to two packs a day before I knew what hit me. I finally succeeded by walling off anything that had to do with smoking or smokes until I firmly established the ability to resist. For me, I was able to finally stand firm when the smell of cigarette smoke became unpleasant and its presence irritated my nose and throat. With lung cancer the primary killer in my family history, I may have added a number of years to my life. But to do it, I had to do whatever was necessary to keep tobacco from getting near me.

There have been a couple of times I have abstained from food for extended periods. Two or three times I have done ten-day fasts, consuming only water. Twice I did medically supervised Optifast plans where I did not eat solid food for the first 40 days. I drank 5, eight ounce “shakes” instead. When the 40 days was up, I drank four shakes a day and had one meal. My last Optifast experience, from early 2000 to mid-2001, I lost 185 pounds.

One of the reasons the efforts above eventually failed is that complete abstinence from food is not possible. Sooner or later we have to go back to the table. Imagine the alcoholic forced to have cocktails after work EVERY DAY, but not get drunk or the smoker required to have a SINGLE cigarette after sex. Food addicts are in the terrifying and contradictory position of having to court our death to stay alive.

Is it any wonder why so many diets fail?

Step One

2010-03-09T21:09:00.000-08:00

Hi
My Name is Billie
I am addicted to food.

I have been here so many times before and for this trip it is still necessary to begin with the beginning. The First Step, “I admit that I am powerless over food and my life has become unmanageable.”

It’s true. Over food, I am absolutely powerless. I quit smoking 30 years ago, cold turkey and never looked back. I drink occasionally, but alcohol has no sway over me. I might be the only person in America that has expired beer in the fridge. I was on Percocet for months and months. My doctor was concerned that I would become addicted to the pain killers until I told him I would rather have a double cheese burger. When the pain ended, I just stopped taking them. I think I still have 6 pills left in the bottle.

It is also true that my life is unmanageable and food is the biggest contributor. Food is the perfect partner for procrastination, poor discipline, “couch disease” and laziness; all afflictions of mine. I eat huge amounts of food, so much that I often have to lie down as I cannot keep my eyes open. I call it a “food coma.” If too many carbohydrates are involved, I will be groggy and have a killer headache when I awake. My stomach will be so full that I can barely move. It is the pathetic sight of an addict in full service to my addiction.

That addiction has controlled most of my life, kept me from doing so many things, seeing so many people and going so many places. I can barley climb one flight of stairs, let alone hike a trail. I have half a dozen pair of beautiful shoes that I don’t wear because I cannot reach the ankle strap to buckle them. They are in my closet, waiting for me to surrender this battle so I can fight it.

More later,
Billie

Food Fight!!

2010-03-08T12:28:00.000-08:00

The original reason for starting this blog page has died a quiet death at my own hands; and that’s a good thing. Since the funeral, I’ve been wondering what to do with the thing, especially since I own this domain name across the known universe, with the possible exception of the Klingon Empire. Negotiations are ongoing.

A few days ago, I had an idea. (No it’s not the only one I have ever had, but this is one of the good ones.) I will use it to journal about the toughest battle I will ever fight. Where before I intended to share opinions, in this effort, I will share my life. Particularly, that part of my life pertaining to the final major hurdle to my happiness.

The technical name for it, appropriately I think, is Morbid Obesity. The not so technical names we all know, but to state the obvious, I am a very fat chick and need to change that for a number of reasons.

As with my life, this will be chaotic. I will write about what’s on my mind at the time. No time tables or set subject matter. One day you may see a simple progress report, another a story from my fat past, another a rant against society’s love affair with food. It won’t be for you, it will be for me, and thus I will be blunt and you will read things you may find distasteful. But I need to see them in all their pixel ugliness. In sharing I will accomplish two things; the first is I will come out of hiding and bare my last deep secrets and second, hopefully this will help someone else. It has the additional appeal, at least to me, that it is about a much different transision.

Let’s begin.

Today begins the second week of attempt number 18,615 to lose weight. I weighed in at 393 pounds. I lost 12 pounds last week. Before you get all excited, remember a gallon of water weighs 8 pounds and reducing Carbohydrates, at least in my body, results in constant peeing. Still 12 pounds is 12 pounds. I have a tendency to ignore the positive in exchange for a recitation of my past failures. And there are plenty of those. I worked hard last week to stay focused on the successes.

I weighed in on Day One at 405 pounds. I have weighed more. I decided in that first week to cap only one parameter and that was Carbohydrates at 110 grams a day. That’s 440 calories, roughly one-and-a-half Snickers bars. For someone who loves bagels, rolls, and sandwiches, that ain’t a lot of Carbs. I could eat whatever else I wanted and as much as I wanted as long as I held the Carbs down.

I held the line on Carbs and I ate plenty of whatever else I wanted; around 3,000 calories a day give or take, mostly fat calories. This week I am capping two parameters; Carbs at 125 grams and total calories at 2,500. I am holding down Carbs because I have ample evidence and experience to show that I have developed a resistance to my own insulin (Syndrome X.) If I keep my Carbs in check, my blood sugar tests well within “normal.” If I let the Carbs go, my blood sugar will test in the 110-115 range; so called “pre-diabetic” levels.

Enough for today. You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t read this. As I said, it’s for me. I need a breakthrough; maybe this will be it.

Ours Is But To Accept

2009-10-04T13:49:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about this trip is that I get to sit with relatives and friends and have long talks. We catch up on all that has happened in our lives since our last meeting; the successes, failures, highs, lows, family gossip and what the hell was I thinking. :) My Mother is no exception. The other day she said the most extraordinary thing to me.

First, I need to tell you a little about my Brother, Steve. I am the oldest of four kids and Steve is number two, thirteen months younger than I. We were not very close for decades. Our relationship has improved significantly over the past fifteen or so years. Even so, we are very different. It is those differences that led me to hurt his feelings; unintentionally, but significantly.

Steve is not the most tolerant person I know. Our “colorful” past and certain things in his nature caused me to conclude that Steve would not be very accepting of my situation and the subsequent decision I made to live my life, full-time as a woman.

I was wrong, very wrong and Steve was hurt that I would think he could not, would not accept my decision and continue to love me. And through my Mother, I learned just how profound my Brother’s mindset toward me actually is. Mother told me that in a conversation with Steve, where she was remarking that she just did not understand why I had chosen this path, Steve told her, “It is not for us to understand. Ours is but to accept.”

Wow!! That blew me away and I cried.

I have a blind spot when it comes to how others react to my decision. Because of this blind spot, I have sought to talk to those affected by my choice and learn exactly how it has affected their lives. To those I have hurt, I apologize and seek forgiveness. It was never my intent to cause pain.

All speak of the surprise to hear the news, but once the shock has passed, their reactions differ. Men often speak of the courage to make such a choice; women are usually sad that I had to live a life in hiding waiting for society to be more open. A few had suspicions that I was either Gay or Transgendered, a few others couldn’t put their finger on it, but knew I was unhappy. Most note that I am a better person, that I radiate happiness now, that I am far more active, social and personally involved in the community than before. They tell me that the qualities that matter remain and have been enhanced despite the change in my appearance.

Still, many do not understand and that is OK. The root of this change is, after all, a Disorder and a rare one at that. Many people will only know one or two Transgendered people in their entire life. Further, the roles of Gender are deeply engrained in everything we do. Those that are comfortable with the sex assigned to them at birth wouldn’t trade for all the tea in China. My youngest brother, Andy, watched me unload all the things I needed just to spend the night at his place, I looked like a pack mule, and remarked, “I know you HAD to do this. No one would willingly choose to be a woman and haul all this stuff around. Being a guy is much simpler.” Indeed.

Going back through the past two years, I can think of only three people that have rejected me outright. My spouse, but to be fair, she rejected me twenty years ago; and two male friends who have refused to talk to me despite apologies and attempts to engage them. As they no doubt don’t understand me, I don’t understand why they won’t talk to me. I simply chalk it up to human nature. In any case, mine is not to understand, mine is simply to accept.

Five Hours of Heaven

2009-10-02T08:09:00.000-07:00

Last night I went over to my brother Andy’s place. He is divorced and this is his weekend to have the kids; Connor and Keegan, my teenage nephews and Kiernan, my six year-old niece. It was my good fortune that the kids had Teacher Conferences, so Andy had them early this week since they have today, Friday, off.

As I pulled up into their driveway, Kiernan came running out the front door, braving the cold and wind to greet me with a hug and escorted me into the house. Wednesday she had been so anxious to see me that she made her dad, my brother, drive twenty minutes to my Mother’s so she could spend half an hour with me before having to return to her Mom’s for dinner.

Once inside, she grabbed me by the hand and took me on a tour ending in her bedroom. It was painted two different shades of pink with a paper border around the room four feet high separating them. The head of her bed was covered with stuffed animals; among them were the Fish family, the Monkey family and the Statue of Liberty doll her dad had brought back from New York City. This menagerie rested atop a pink “Dora the Explorer” bedspread.

She showed me her closet, her clothes, her keepsake jewelry and the artwork coveted by her dad. She also showed me her purse, another prized possession from her dad’s trip to New York City. Then we went to see her Bearded Dragon lizard, Thunderball. Thunderball is one of three family lizards, but Kiernan proudly informed me that hers was the largest. Indeed, she was. From there, it was back to the bedroom to play.

She pulled out her Dora the Explorer house and started opening it up so we could play, but she saw a spider and immediately scampered on top of the bed. “Aunt Billie, can you please take care of the spider?” No problem, Aunt Billie to the rescue, then on to our play time. She demonstrated all the gadgets; the oven, the “real” door, the book shelves and the stove. I joined her on the floor where we played until it was time to go to Claxon’s for dinner.

After dinner, we retired to her dad’s room so we could watch “Daffy and the Quackbusters” and eat banana pie. She had obviously seen the movie a few times and made sure I knew the funny parts were coming. She eventually opened up her laptop and started playing a game where you cook various dishes and are scored on how you combine your ingredients and the cooking technique you use. She leaned away from her screen often to make sure I had not fallen asleep, commenting once or twice that I looked tired. (That banana pie was a carb overload!)

It was time to leave and as we said our goodbyes she asked if I could spend the night tomorrow. I told her Saturday night would actually be better, so I will come over then, “OK?” Nope, she couldn’t wait that long, so I am spending the night tonight, Friday.

As I drove home tears filled my eyes as joy filled my heart. THIS is what it is all about, all the pain and patience. I laughed remembering all those posts I have read arguing over terminology and definitions like, what is a woman. I have long since abandoned those debates, but I can answer that question. Last night I was a woman; through and through, one hundred percent pure, Aunt Billie.

And I loved it!!

PS - To see my precious niece, check out this video on YouTube!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDhnRfuj86Q

The Tie That Binds

2009-09-26T21:01:00.000-07:00

I wish all those relatives out there who have rejected their kin for being Transgender could meet my cousin Gary and his wife Barbara. Their kindness and generosity could not help but influence even the hardest heart.

I can’t remember the last time I saw Gary and Barbara; that is before my sister’s funeral last year. Gary hadn’t seen me as Billie up to that point. Not that it mattered. From the way he acted, you would think seeing his cousin dressed as a woman was an ordinary event! We didn’t have much time to chat about what had happened; we were there to honor my sister Kate, not talk about me. Before we parted, Gary said I was welcome to come visit him anytime.

I took him up on his offer as part of my Sabbatical and just finished a wonderful three day visit. Gary and Barbara put me up in the guest room and made me part of their lives. I posted some video of their lovely place. This time we had the time to chat about what I had been through, what my life had been like and answer some questions.

But more importantly, we connected as family. We reminisced over old times, shared new stories, got caught up on our kids and other kin and remembered those that have departed both recently and long ago. We sang songs we remember from our youth, Gary played a record he made for our Grandparents when he was six and I recounted a train ride to Bartlesville when I was eight. In every story, every memory, every smile, family provided the common reference, the string that held it all together.

I wonder if those that have rejected their Transgender relatives know how much they are actually paying. In their rejection, they cut the family tie and even if it is eventually restored, the damage and loss cannot be repaired. I cannot think of the thing that would cause me to reject my kin. I may not like everything I see, but love can still prevail.

Thank you Gary and Barbara for loving me, for inviting me to come visit and for showing me a wonderful time while I was there. You are the greatest!!

The Good, the Bad and the Androgynous – 09-23-2009

2009-09-24T11:39:00.000-07:00

The Androgynous – I did learn a couple of things on the trip to Denver. It is important for me to enhance every female “cue” I can. At a minimum, I need to choose feminine clothing, wear a touch of mascara and always, always put on lipstick. These simple things go a long way toward countering my male cues. The more androgynous my appearance through ambiguous clothing or no make-up, the easier it is to read my “Trans Badge.”

The Bad – Fear, real honest to goodness fear made for a restless Tuesday night. I have travelled alone before, slept in my vehicle at rest stops many times and was never concerned. I wasn’t a woman either.

I found I was really nervous that the windows were not covered, so someone could see in. I was startled at the slightest noise. (It is amazing how much noise a vehicle makes cooling down after hours and hours on the road.) :) I was constantly looking around, checking the mirrors and watching where all incoming vehicles wound up. All of this vigilance took place while gripping a loaded revolver. Thankfully, I did get some sleep. However, I need to improve my security for sleeping "al fresco."

The Good – After my restless night, I decided I wanted a good, sit-down breakfast. I stopped at the Denny’s in Tucumcari. I got the breakfast I needed as well as a big boost to my confidence!!

I was wearing my signature color; pink capris, a pink top, flats, not running shoes, and pink pearl earrings. I brushed my hair before I left the van, had on a touch of mascara and pink lipstick. While I was eating, I ate as I have seen my girlfriends eat; small bites and placing my utensils on the plate between bites. I picked up my book from time to time, showing indifference toward the food for a moment, then back to eating. I was being “dainty,” at least as dainty as a 400 pound woman can be. :) (This is also a good practice to guard against overeating!)

Half a dozen people came in. We exchanged glances, a smile, a nod or a “Good Morning;” it was all quite ordinary. Even the three construction workers who sat next to me looked me over with the indifference only a middle aged woman could engender. I loved it; kind smiles and acknowledgments toward the nice lady, nothing more.

I pondered why this is so important to me. I concluded that it is no different than many of my born-female friends. They control the environment around them; improve their safety and security by avoiding undue attention, by not dressing or acting provocatively and by presenting themselves in what they describe as a “lady-like” manner. They hold to a standard of public behavior passed down from their Mothers that says there is a difference between being a woman and being a lady and being a lady is preferable.

Perhaps if I were born Jennifer Love Hewitt or Cameron Diaz, I would think differently. But I am a woman born man whose grip on femininity is tentative at best. Society’s fear and misunderstanding of people like me complicates matters because it is impossible to know how someone will react if they scratch my surface and find a past they did not expect. The best way for me to protect myself, protect people like me, is to be what others expect a middle-aged woman to be.

And to act like lady.

What's the Diff?

2009-09-21T10:42:00.000-07:00

My transition story isn’t much different than anyone else’s; I had two roles, the hidden female role and the male role, which was visible to the world. After nearly 18 months of living full-time as a woman, I find to my horror that I still have two roles and the dream of finding peace in my life will likely escape me.

The visible role has changed, I am no longer living as a male. I spend my days as a woman and enjoy that life immensely. In this sense, my dream has come true. I love being Billie and any doubts about making that change have long evaporated.

The other role brings far less pleasure, the role of Transsexual. Before I started this journey, I thought I would be transitioning from one sex to the other. It did not occur to me that the transition would never end. I knew I would never be “born woman,” but I thought that between medical science, training, practice and the courts, my male past would only be visible to those to whom I revealed it. With a body that matched both my mind’s eye and the paperwork, I would be as close to born woman as one can get. Transition complete.

Now I find the only way to achieve that end is to do something I find equally distasteful; cut off all contact with the Trans community. Abandon those that have helped me, those that I could help, and those that are lost in their own struggle. I can’t do it; yet I hate wearing this label and I hate even more the need some have to ensure the world knows I am wearing it.

I didn’t like being Bill, but it was a role I had mastered. Although there was always a danger that my secret life as Billie would be discovered, at least I didn’t have anyone actively trying to out me. Maybe I was better off than I thought.

The Walk About September 15, 2009

2009-09-16T23:51:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone. I am a little behind. I have spent a lot of time gaining the technical skills needed to make this happen and it looks like I have most of the kinks worked out. Following is some insight into our first day on the great Walk About. For those that don't know, Toni D'orsay has come along with me. I am expecting a grand time with her along!!

I was telling some folks before I left for this adventure that I was really interested in finding out how the rest of the world reacted to Billie. I felt that in Phoenix and in particular where I work, I was insulated to a great extent. After all, after living as a woman full-time for 17 months, I have not received a single derogatory comment. I am already finding out and it’s just the first day!! First, some details.

The first leg of the trip took on a new priority when son Tony flew into Phoenix with a friend to move his stuff up to Denver. Since Tony was unable to borrow a truck, he asked if we would consider hauling a trailer up there for him. Unfortunately, there was no time to lollygag as both Tony and Thom needed to be at work on Wednesday. Toni D. and I figured we would have arrived in Denver in two or three days if we had stopped at all the places we were interested in seeing. :)

We had hoped to be on the road by 5:00 am, but didn’t get out until 5:45; not bad. The journey went well; the van performed flawlessly towing the massive trailer. The event of interest was the convenience stop on the Navajo reservation at Indian City. As I was paying for a candy bar, the clerk, a very nice lady, asked me, “So, you two are actually men dressed as women, is that correct?” I am sure she could hear the incredulity in my voice when I responded, “That’s not the way I would I put it.”

She was very kind and made it clear that she was simply curious and did not mean to offend. She asked how I would put it. I said, “I am just a woman.” She told Toni and me that she didn’t get out much and liked to take advantage of learning situations as they occurred at the shop. So, we talked with her for awhile, long enough to bring the boys in from outside to see what happened to us. I vowed that from here on out, I will lose the attitude and become curious myself.

Tony and and his friend, Thom are great kids. Tony drove for several hours so I could catch a little sleep. With all the stops needed for my aging bones and bladder, the trip took 17 and-a-half hours. When we arrived, I actually backed the trailer into a parking place at their apartment complex! I never thought I would be able to do that. I have to confess a few plants may have suffered. :)

We had an interesting experience when we arrived at the hotel. Toni and I arrived around 1:00 am and we were exhausted. Most guys, even the most selfish will help two women struggling with their luggage, if only to hold the door open. This guy, the night desk clerk, was sitting in a chair, in the lobby, a mere 20 feet from the front door, notebook computer on his lap watching the History Channel. Toni and I both were loaded down and could barely open the door. The clerk did not budge; twice.

I am not sure if he was lazy or indifferent or whether he had read us as “trans” and was translating his opinion of us into non-action. I suspected it was the latter when he started using male pronouns in reference to us. I told him I intended to file a complaint about his behavior; which really upset him. He called his boss, who apparently exonerated his lack of action. At the conclusion of the call, he simply smiled and said, “I hope you have a nice evening.”

I will file the complaint. As a customer, irrespective of my gender presentation, “hospitality” is simply good business and I am sure the higher ups at the hotel will be interested in knowing how this franchise treats their “guests.” I will be happy to share the name on the establishment upon request.

We will see Tony and Thom again, and Gina too, on Wednesday evening; then Gina has Thursday off so the three girls will rat around Denver all day. From here Toni and I will be on our own and for starters will head back down to Trinidad for a visit.

I have posted a short video on YouTube. It is the very first using my new camera and the sound is not great, but you get to see my wonderful son, Tony. More tomorrow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6xf0CzmFpA

Take Care,
Billie

They Got It Right

2009-08-19T08:33:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has seen me knows I am not petite. This presents some problems in daily life, but one of the tough ones is getting an MRI. I am having trouble with a pinched nerve and need my cervical spine "magnetized." I found a place that may have a machine that can handle my weight and my girth. I notified my doctor and he faxed them over an order for the procedure.

They called me to make an appointment yesterday. There were a couple of questions; name, birth date and doctor so she could find the order.

"Ah, here it is," she said. "But they have you down as female."

"I am female," I replied politely. "Is there something there that would indicate otherwise?"

"No," she said and we proceeded to make the appointment.

It's true, I still need a lot of voice work. But the good news is, at least my doctor knows a girl when he sees one!

Take Care,
Billie

On Community, Leadership and Transition

2009-08-17T12:24:00.000-07:00

Hopefully, those of you who read this know me well enough to know that what I say here reflects what I see as reality. I try very hard not to be prejudiced against anyone. I want to see all Transgendered people live the life they desire. But we do live in a free society which means we need to be considerate of our fellow citizens. As the saying goes, my freedom stops at the tip of your nose.

Within the political realm, my primary concern is the transition of those who desire to live full-time as the opposite sex. I refer to them as Transsexuals. This is probably not a surprise, since I am a Transsexual and that is my world. I think fully transitioning into the opposite sex is the hardest road, with the greater challenges. I care for others on the Transgender spectrum, but I have limited resources and have chosen to put them where I think they will do the most good.

Regarding transition, I think it is fair to say that in today’s world, those that conform to society’s expectations for gender behavior have an easier time transitioning. There are still hoops, but the more I look, sound and act like a woman, the fewer issues I will have. Society assumes I am and always have been a woman. (I will be using my MTF transition for illustration in this essay.)

However, the more male cues I give off, the more suspicious people become. They think “women don’t do that” or “women don’t sound like that” or “women don’t have beards.” Their issue with me is not necessarily Trans related, but that I have not conformed to their expectation regarding the gender I am presenting and anytime anything doesn’t conform to what we expect, our initial reaction is suspicion.

Suspicion is often the spark that ignites distrust and hatred. I fear that legislation pushing self identified gender expression will result in society being overwhelmed by all sorts of folks flying in the face of Society's gender role expectations. I fear their suspicion will then grow to the point where MY transition, quite smooth to this point, is imperiled by the slightest miscue, one that would have been overlooked before the law. Now, because there is a guy with a three day beard and hairy legs who wants to wear a dress on Wednesdays and demands to be called and treated as a woman, everyone’s transition is harder.

Maybe the law will be on my side, but what good is that on a dark street, when the police don’t help or when you don’t have money for an attorney? Even if the law is passed, there is no such thing as equal treatment under the law for citizens, why would I expect to get it as a Transwoman? There will be immeasurable pain doled out by defensive individuals upon Transfolk who are either ill prepared or lack the resources to assert the rights they have been given by this law.

The law won't change circumstances. It only gives recourse if a Transperson is mistreated. One must have the resources to take advantage of that recourse, whether that be physical, mental, spiritual or financial. I would also not be excited that my fate would rest in the hands of a judge. I have seen too many judges decide against Transfolk as an exception to the law. Sure some will benefit, but at what cost to the rest of us?

The Benjamin Standards notwithstanding, we are not the same; though I hasten to add that none is superior. Just look around the community. There are Post-Ops who consider themselves completely female, their transition over and operate within society virtually undetected and undetectable. There are those who have apparently done all they can or will do regarding their transition, live full-time as a woman, but give off several male cues, voice, hair line, or facial hair. There are those that live as both male and female because they want to, are early in their transition or don’t have a choice due to health or relationship issues. There are full-time women, who look and act like women, but are Pre-op either due to age, health or money. And there are those that pretend to be Trans because they want a relationship with a Trans woman. And this list doesn’t cover the other gender variant possibilities.

The prejudice in our own community is a reflection of the gender role expectations of the society as a whole. The occasional anomaly aside, when we’re naked, there are just two biological sexes, male and female and they have been exclusive clubs for millennia. When U.S. society thinks about this issue, they go to the locker rooms and bathrooms first thing; they want to know what is between your legs. Women don’t want penises in their locker rooms or bathrooms. Men don’t want women pretending to have a penis in their locker rooms or bathrooms. When we’re dressed and behave as expected, there are few if any issues. But give off the wrong cue and there may be trouble. A law won’t change that, at least right away, and having recourse doesn’t prevent being assaulted in the men’s room or being ostracized at work by the ladies.

Finding a solution for all Tranfolk will be hard and I am not sure I have the answer. It has to start with a leadership team. I don’t have any idea how to bring that about, except to say that I think they need to be consensus builders, not head busters. The community meeting held in July was a start, but there has been no coordinated follow-up since. As a community we need to get committed if we want to have an impact. Debates in cyberspace don’t get it done. We need to be in the real world implementing a well designed plan. As a community we are all over the place, running from one issue to another like the Keystone Cops. We need to understand what our resources are, develop goals and put together the plans to meet those goals. The plan needs to be detailed and communicated to fire up people to get involved. Most importantly, we need to make constant progress.

We also need to understand ourselves. I think the effort to call us all the same ignores the fact that we are indeed different. I understand folks like me, who are compelled to live as the opposite sex, who want to be undetectable within society’s current gender expectations and are willing to do whatever is necessary to achieve that goal. I don’t understand some of the others. In any case, we need to understand the end game for each Trans “category,” what result are they hoping to achieve and design a strategy around that. No doubt some elements of those strategies will overlap and we can take advantage of that where it occurs.

I think our long term plan has to be changing hearts and minds. In addition to the one on one work many Transfolk do, we need to do large scale education to gain sympathy, tolerance, acceptance, and love. Stuff like the Banco Provincia commercial. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wu7nKR0t5zQ Such a campaign could be used to showcase the various Trans groups to emphasize our similarities instead of our differences, demonstrating that even the hairy legged dude in a skirt is just another person.

Here is where I go way off the beaten path. Short term, I would like to see us break away from the Gay community and focus on Transsexuals, those that want to live full-time as the opposite sex. I think the standards for transition need to much harder and much more realistic. I would like to see a standardized, nationwide transition policy that TEMPORARILY protects those that decide to transition while it establishes unified procedures to facilitate the change.

I see such a policy protecting the Transperson’s job, home and assets; forbidding discrimination on the basis of transition during the transition; requiring the medical community to establish detailed education materials, certifications for staff, and detailed care instructions; requiring the Transperson to declare a “default” biological sex and confirm their desire to identify in the gender role most closely associated with that sex; requiring the individual to have an assessment of what lay ahead for them and a realistic appraisal of their ability to assimilate in their target sex; building in safeguards to ensure the person is on the correct path and is committed to whatever is necessary to make the change; have a time limit for transition to occur and provide for certified exceptions to the policy for health reasons that may prevent a “complete” sex change. At some point, the transition ends and for all intents and purposes, you are your target sex, the transition protections end and you have to make your way in the world just like everyone else.

To me, something like this embodies empowerment. There is some assistance offered, something akin to the GI Bill that helped me pay for school, but the rest is up to us. We succeed or fail based on our commitment and level of effort and if we do fail, there is no one to blame but ourselves. “Pure” empowerment comes from within, from our internal “grit” and determination. The kind of empowerment I want comes from respect for myself; a respect that drives me forward to become who I want to be.

If that respect is not there, if the commitment to change is weak, then I question whether the change should be made at all. I am not sure I want laws that protect half-assed attempts or those who lack the determination to complete the journey they started and then expect me to still treat them as if they had. Each individual needs to own their transition and go into it with their eyes open. I would argue that most of us understood the price before we started and if we did, then we have no excuse for whining when it gets hard. If someone leaped before looking and is in over their head, I am certainly there to help them through, but I don’t see the need to change the rules for them. I don’t think we have the right to curse society for a standard that we knew was there before we started our transition.

At the end of the day, each of us needs to decide if the need to transition is strong enough to do it within the current environment. Do we have the discipline to obtain the resources and train ourselves to blend in with society or do we have the thick skin necessary to stand against the insults and assaults as we go up against society’s gender expectation. In either case, we need to generate empowerment within ourselves. The law doesn't keep me safe, only I and those around me can protect me. I think it's best to have society for us, not against us.

What's in a Name?

2009-08-05T19:06:00.000-07:00

I was at the hair salon this afternoon; a little place in Mesa that I go to with a friend from work. Clara (not her real name), the owner, is a lot of fun, has a million great stories and does my color perfectly. What she doesn't do very well is remember my name.

When Clara addresses me, about half the time she calls me "Bill." She never knew Bill, never saw Bill; my first appointment was well after I went full-time. She knows I am transitioning; my thinning hair, bald spot and struggling girl voice made it inevitable that she would find out. Still, how she can look at me with my hair plastered down with yellow goo, wearing a black, bra-less, V-neck tunic, black capri's, pink lipstick and hoop earrings and call me "Bill" is a trifle puzzling.

Clara is not the only one who calls me "Bill." I have a close friend of over 20 years who has stood beside me from day one although he doesn't understand what I am doing. When we meet for lunch I sense he has one foot outside his comfort zone ready to run, but he doesn't. He told me he is not comfortable calling me "Billie." I admit that I secretly hope "Billie" will one day be comfortable for him. Until then however, I will answer to "Bill" from this dear friend.

My Mother's boyfriend calls me "Bill" all the time. I am not sure if it's due to old age or orneriness. My two brothers are pretty good, until we start drinking and then "Billie" pretty much goes out the window. When she was alive, my sister Kate never missed, but then she called me "Billy" most of our adult lives. My kids call me Dad, but I'm not sure that counts. Hell, even my mother slips up now and again and calls me "Bill." But in fairness, as kids she would often call for one of us by shouting, "BillySteveKateAndy, get in here NOW!" It was easier than remembering whom she actually wanted.

In contrast are those that never miss; the folks that knew me as "Bill" for three, four, twenty- five years and have been able to make the transition. There are also those who never knew Bill, but know my history and address me flawlessly from the outset. Maybe it's a skill they possess, maybe they're detail people, or maybe they understand the importance of getting someone's name right.

I am not good with names, but I am pretty sure I don't bounce back and forth between "Clara" and "Clarence" while my obviously female hairdresser blows out my cut. This is a phenomenon that seems unique to the Transgender Community and the non-trans folks we interact with. I want to be sensitive to those that are taking this journey with me, give them time to adjust and let it sink in that my name is different. I must admit however, the longer it takes my non-trans colleagues to get my name right, the more annoyed I get and the more I suspect there is more to it than a slow adjustment.

Don't get me wrong, I don't expect non-trans folks to understand the significance of the name change to us within the community. That wouldn't be fair. Most are simply unaware of the joy we feel, the sense of accomplishment it brings and how it helps us identify to the world who we have been all our lives. How sweet it is the first time you hear yourself called by "your" name!

So what is in a name? For us in the Trans community it represents a new life, a true life and life wholly our own. Maybe it's a little unreasonable to insist that our non-trans friends adapt quickly in this area, but it is important. This rose does not go by any other name; my name is Billie and I will be grateful if you will remember that.

Love always,
Billie

Validation

2009-07-28T19:01:00.000-07:00

I just scrapped a rather scathing piece brought on by a friend telling me her parents had disowned her after telling them she was transitioning from their son to their daughter. But before I hit the "publish" button, I received a link to a 16 minute video on YouTube titled "Validation." I decided to write instead to those that have been abandoned by their loved ones.

I want you to know that you are a beautiful person and I love you. I don't love you because you can do something for me, although you give me more than I can express, I love you because my God loves me. He loves me simply because I am, no matter what I am and he does not require I love him back. Thus I love you the same way.

I love you because you are remarkably strong, so much stronger than others. You endured a raging battle in your inner self for years, even decades, but you moved forward despite the lack of victory. You cried silently night after night for fear that if you told, you would be thrown away. In the morning you dried your tears alone and began again.

You have a beautiful smile, a "truth" smile that can only come from your heart of hearts. A smile that cannot be denied because of the sweet freedom you experience today having married the image in your mind with the image in your mirror. You no longer wake up in a lie, but in the truth and that truth brings a happiness that is seen by one and all. It is your aurora of magnificence.

I love you because you know the meaning of sacrifice. Not the pitiful displays of so many, but true sacrifice of self and soul for others. In deference to others you postponed your heart's desires and even now, you defer so much of who you'd like to be out of consideration for the thoughts and hearts of those that have decided to travel with you in transition, giving them time to adjust and see you through new glasses.

I love you because you are courageous. When the time came to choose, you chose to be yourself despite the cost you would have to bear. Parents, spouses, children, relatives or friends, all who at one time or another had professed their love for you found this simple act of truth beyond that love. You wondered if even God hated you. In the face of this rejection, you walked into your new life, born again true.

I love you because you know what really matters in life. That respect and good character are much more important than what a person looks like. That love and generosity are more valuable than gender and a true friend is worth more than gold. You know that all of the Law and the Prophets are summed up by this one saying, "So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you."

With all my love,
Billie

Spousal Support - A Comment on "Where Art Thou Support for Spouse?" by Lori D

2009-07-25T12:20:00.000-07:00

On her blog, "a T Revival," Lori D posted a note titled, "Where Art Thou Support for Spouse?" She garnered a lot of comments and I thought I would share some of my own.

I think anyone who wants support should be able to get it. Whether support for family members should come out of the Trans* community is debatable and I am not going to deal with that here. And that's because I think the need for spousal and family counseling will all but disappear as it is a need unique to older Transfolk such as I.

What need there may be for family counseling is born from the fact that when we were making life decisions in our teens and twenties there was no one there to counsel us. Thus, we made our decisions based on the configuration of our bodies, not our minds and those decisions set off a cascade of issues and unhappiness extending far beyond ourselves. It was inevitable we would need to face the truth and its repercussions, though we refused to acknowledge it until it became a matter of life or death. By that time in our lives, hurting the ones we loved the most became inevitable as well.

Thank God things are different today. Information on Gender Identity Disorder is abundant and instantly available. Organizations such as Trans Youth Family Allies and Parents, Families and Friends of Gays and Lesbians are providing education and assistance that make it easier and safer to explore, understand, find and follow one's true self. Perhaps of greater significance is the "old guard" is dying off being replaced by younger generations that do not share their judgmental phobias and hatred. The end result of all this will hopefully be better life decisions and less collateral damage.

I think if we were open and honest with each other, we would find that most "Trans* Spouses" knew a hell of a lot more about what was going on in their marriage then they were willing to admit. That they had plenty of opportunities to demonstrate that the love they had for their spouse was greater than the problem before them. But when they went looking for that love, it wasn't there, it never had been. No amount of counseling can create love, especially a love willing to sacrifice for another. When I see a couple still together after transition, I thank God, because it is a rare and beautiful thing to behold.

Take Care
Billie

Thank You Dr. Becky

2009-07-16T22:02:00.000-07:00

I had a routine visit with the doctor yesterday and he decided I needed to have some tests run. The first will be a colonoscopy. The doctor gave me a referral and they had an opening today for the preliminary visit.

I always feel a little apprehensive going to a new doctor; I have heard so many stories. Although it is still hard for me to believe, there is no denying that a few in the medical community are not happy to see us. I never quite know how to broach the topic that I am Trans; I even have the vain hope that I won't have to. And then there are the medical forms and all the questions; the one that always stops me dead in my tracks is, "when was your last menstrual cycle?" I leave that one blank.

The nurse practitioner came in and started going over my medical history and reviewing the forms. We went over the cancers in my family, my abdominal surgery and my medications; vitamins, low dose aspirin, acid blocker, blood pressure meds and hormones. Check, check, check. I took a deep breath, "There is one more thing that I should probably mention," I said. I took another deep breath, "I wasn't actually born a woman," I said.

The nurse didn't miss a beat. "Yes, I know," she said.
Before I could ask how in the world she knew, she continued. "The orchiectomy and the hormones were pretty much a dead giveaway."
"Duh!," I thought.
She went on, "The nice thing about your colon is that is doesn't care what gender you are. Everyone has a poop hole."

And then the world got very small. She said that a number of years ago as a young nurse, she worked for a Cardiologist that I may know and she asked if I had ever heard of Becky Allison. "Dr.Becky?" I said. "Of course" as a big smile lit up my face. "We're friends on Facebook!"

"Well, there ya go," she said. All of the sudden I felt right at home.

One never knows how you are going to touch someone's life and what fruit that touch will bear. Thank you Dr. Becky for your help today so many years ago.

Take Care,
Billie

Blessings

2009-07-14T19:17:00.001-07:00

As I was getting ready to leave work tonight, I received a call from a colleague I had not spoken with for over a year. We finished our business discussion and somehow got on to my transition. We talked for over an hour as I shared history, stories and feelings. When we hung up, I was smiling; in telling my story, I was reminded just how blessed I am.

I was blessed when my sister said to me, "I finally have the big sister I've always wanted." She was the first family member I told. I was blessed when my two brothers said, "You go bro...er dude...er gal...er Sis...you know what we mean!" I was blessed when my Mother gave me a place to stay after my spouse asked me to leave. I am still staying at her place which has trapped her in Des Moines for two very bad winters. I was also blessed by my friend, a former pastor, who responded to my announcement by saying, "First, you need to know that you are and always shall be my friend."

I was particularly blessed by my three children. They didn't know it at the time, but they held within their hearts the power to stop me in my tracks. Now that I was out, the consequences of not transitioning were too dark to contemplate. But the consequences of never seeing my children again were darker still. Thankfully, that was a choice I never faced. All three said the same thing, "Do what you need to do to be true to yourself. You will always be our Dad, we will always love you." And so they have.

My transition has had its rough spots; the divorce was hard, some of my pre-Trans friends have not spoken to me since I came out and I have endured some complications from transition related surgery. Still, the surgery has healed and I am reconnecting with other old friends that despite being stunned by my announcement, are managing to put that behind them even if they don't fully understand what I am doing.

The trials are not over, but neither are the blessings. The trials don't last, the blessings do; especially the blessing of waking up every morning as Billie.

Take Care,
Billie

A New Rainbow

2009-07-12T16:22:00.000-07:00

I imagine almost everyone has seen a rainbow. Its beauty is obvious. Most of us know that a rainbow is caused when raindrops, acting as a prism, break down the white light of the sun into its "spectrum" of colors. I had to look up how many colors are in that spectrum. It turns out there are seven colors, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. That's also the order in which the colors appear in a rainbow from the outer arc to the inner arc, determined by their individual wavelength.

Last Saturday night I saw something I had never seen before; it was a new rainbow, one with well over a dozen colors in its spectrum; and I understand there are far more colors that were simply not visible that night. This night, illumination was not from the sun, but from the lamps inside a hotel conference room and the "colors" were the organizations represented by over twenty participants that had gathered there for an historic meeting.

The eclectic group was called together by Mischelle De LaFreniere, whom most of you know very well. She is a significant voice in the Trans Community whose contributions are numerous. Among the organizations attending were Arizona TransAlliance, TransMentors International, TransEquality Arizona, Equality Arizona, Transgender Harmony, This is H.O.W., M-Spectrum, Southern Arizona Gender Alliance, Central Arizona Gender Alliance and TransYouth Family Allies. There were more, but I couldn't write fast enough to get them all down on paper. I have never known this many different Trans organizations to be in the same room together, except at a major conference. I figured there would be a lot of energy, but would it be smoke or fire?

It was fire! After our discussion leaders finished walking us through some exercises, we saw that the diversity of our various missions and directions was a tremendous strength. We realized that working on different pieces of the challenges before the Trans Community was efficient and we did not always have to agree on methods or mission to be effective. We agreed that the other groups represented were not competitors, were not to be feared, but instead complimented our work allowing each group to focus on a particular challenge instead of many.

Of almost greater importance was the realization that together, we have significant resources at our disposal, resources that could be shared and thus provide an exponential benefit to the Community. Whether that sharing is the knowledge of a sale on paper or a recent legal brief on Trans marriages, we could be much stronger, more efficient and far more valuable to the Trans Community simply by sharing our knowledge, research, experience and expertise with one another. As the meeting closed, the group was beginning to work on the mechanics of how to implement this break through concept.

The excitement was high as we broke up to head home. Each organization was satisfied that their mission and their methods were secure, that the years of work would continue as it had. But there was a new spirit, a new knowledge, and a new understanding that these organizations would soon have a means to facilitate unprecedented cooperation, allowing them to work together whenever the situation calls for it.

Take Care,

Billie

Welcome to BJ's Building Blocks

2009-07-10T14:01:00.000-07:00

Welcome to BJ's Building Blocks!! I hope to do a lot of things here, but primarily I want to provide a safe, positive environment where our diverse community, friends, allies and opponents can share, learn and discuss the complex issues we face today. We should be able to ask tough questions and air our differences in a non-combative setting where each participant knows their opinions, hopefully expressed with grace, are valued. We may run against the grain sometimes but I will do my best to maintain a site known for its style, grace and humor. It is my fervent prayer that items here will never become a test of fellowship, but simply provide a basis for fruitful exchange. I am certain to miss the mark on occasion, but please know I am going to do my best. For now, there is no set schedule, no set subject matter; I plan to range wide guided by my heart and sometimes my sense of humor. I am not here to change anyone, only to present one side of the story and allow you a place to present another. So relax, it is not necessary to defend yourself, but if you like, feel free to share what's on your mind.

For this inaugural post, I will share some guidelines that I would like all of us to strive for. These are a hodgepodge of my own thoughts and those gleaned from other sources. They are not rules. If these guidelines are observed, I think we can have a wonderful place that will add value to our Community and impact the world around us. So, get your blocks, grab a cookie, find a mat and let's review.

Treat everyone with courtesy and respect. Take the high road, always.
Remember your manners.
Read posts carefully (listen) and don't read too much into the words.
Ask questions, do not assume.
Think before you write, then write what you think, then think it over, then write it over.
Personal attacks are NEVER appropriate; not even in response to an attack. Take it offline.
No one is all right or all wrong so season your words carefully, you may have to eat them.
Facts are facts and can be verified.
Everyone is entitled to their opinions and has the right to express them.
Feelings are illogical, they just are. They may need to be explained, but never justified.
Actions are not feelings and always require justification.
It is OK to disagree and be friends

I welcome your comments and will actually be delighted to engage in healthy, even spirited discourse. But please, check emotions at the URL and come prepared to rationally discuss your thoughts. I relish the opportunity to learn from you, but I admit that I have no patience for ad hominem drivel or verbosity for verbosity's sake. Don't be too disappointed if I remain somewhat intractable in my thoughts. Age has a tendency to stiffen things, including my neck. In any case, I hope we can be friends.

Take Care,

Billie